And You Think I Wouldn't Understand?
by MaidenStar
Summary: Because being a werewolf and being a Metamorphmagus really isn’t that different sometimes. Certainly, there are days when the two hurt in the exact same way. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks never really realised they were that similar. R/T oneshot.


**SUMMARY: Because being a werewolf and being a Metamorphmagus really isn't that different sometimes. Certainly, there are days when the two hurt in the exact same ways. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks never really realised they were the same and this similarity just makes them love each other more.**

**PAIRING: Remus/Tonks**

**DISCLAIMER:The Harry Potter characters, settings etc all belong to J.K. Rowling, I make no profit from writing this oneshot.**

***

And You Think I Wouldn't Understand?

Remus almost literally dragged himself into Number 12.

I...Hate...Transformations.

He glanced morosely at the worn, dirty grandfather clock and noted that it was three in the morning, well after the last Order member was scheduled back. He felt that his joints were creaking as loudly as the floorboards and wished, tonight more than ever, that he didn't have to do this anymore.

Despite Sirius' protestations he point blank refused to transform in the house when it was in use by so many others, what with it being the Christmas Holidays. Wolfsbane potion or no Wolfsbane potion he refused to subject the young ones to his vulgarity, and moreover, he wouldn't put them in danger like that.

No, it was better that he Apparated to a remote place away from innocents where he could transform. Most recently he had gone to a forest not far from his childhood home where he left a spare set of clothes in a large rocky cave so he could change and Apparate home. And for all the times he would wake up on a cold, hard floor next to a clean cotton shirt and his favourite pair of trousers – worn but comfy – the clothes didn't stop him feeling dirty. He felt contaminated, like he had a living, breathing disease crouching inside him as if he were the host, the plague carrier. Just one mistake, one slip up and he could infect anyone. It frightened and repulsed him in sickening, heaving waves of hot, shaking emotion. He shuddered; he needed a shower.

But first, a warm comforting drink and maybe some food, no matter how tired he was nothing could satiate the aching bones (that had been cracked and moulded into unnatural shapes and sizes) the way a bar of Honeyduke's finest could, or maybe he could have one of those Muggle chocolate bars Hermione had given him – his favourite was this bubbly one called 'Aero', Gods when it came to names, those Muggles were uninventive.

Shuffling agonisingly to the kitchen, he felt a wave of disgust at how defenceless and pathetic he felt, he couldn't have mustered a shield charm or a Patronus now if his life depended on it. He crept down the musty corridor, careful not to wake Mrs. Black whose shrieking would have brought each and every inhabitant flying down the stairs, hexing non-existent Death Eaters.

He passed the living room, the door ajar by a mere couple of inches. The thought of his favourite squashy armchair and prospect of the fire almost certainly still crackling in the hearth tempted him to stop by the door. He could leave food until morning, the chocolate would still be there and Molly would probably be serving up all manner of tasty treats. He could just let the fairy lights on the slightly stumpy Christmas tree ease him into sleep; no-one would begrudge him that. He made his decision just as something hit his post-transformation senses. Still on high alert from having been padding around on four legs not two hours ago he both smelt and felt a great sorrow and angst hanging on the air. He would have been prone to thinking that it was just Sirius moping around, or maybe even Kreacher crying over an old Black family heirloom had the smell not been altogether..._female_.

He nudged the door slightly but saw nothing – perhaps he was imaging it, his brain felt tired enough to hallucinate. Or whatever you called an imagined smell or aura, seeing as a hallucination was usually only classed as visual or audible. He actually shook himself – _now's not the time to go into Professor Lupin mode, Remus_ – he chastised himself.

He sank into the armchair he had been thinking of and closed his eyes. They were burning and heavy so great was his exhaustion. Just as he was easing into sleep, feeling almost like a feather floating on the breeze (for once peaceful imagery had crept into his brain) he heard it. It was the oddest noise he had heard in a very long time. It was somewhere between a wail, a choke and a hiccough. It would have been amusing had it not conveyed such pure sorrow. He sat bolt upright and that was when he saw her.

Nymphadora Tonks as he had never seen her before and could barely have imagined possible. She was folded into the tiniest corner of the room when usually she took up the biggest space possible. Her skin was blotched and flushed and her hair was limp and dark brown, the furthest possible colour from bright pink or purple or green. She was not crying but it was obvious she _had_ been. She was surrounded by a nest of tissues and there was also a full box of the things nearby and Remus could still see the dirty tracks each individual tear had painstakingly cut across her skin. She was so wrapped up in her emotion she had not seen him and he didn't want to startle her. He rose slowly, pain cutting up his back and limped half the way to her. At the same slow speed, with the same grimace on his usually delicately refined face, he knelt to the ground.

"Nymphadora?" he whispered cautiously. He tried to ignore the harsh tempo of his heart as it reacted way above the concern levels of normal friendship.

She whipped her head up so fast he winced for her and a tiny squeak of shock issued from her dry lips.

"Remus!?" she croaked, her voice scratchy from disuse. He edged closer and reached a surprisingly smooth, long-fingered, broad-palmed hand to her shoulder. The other shot to her limp, loose fist. Her hand was small and his engulfed it with ease.

"Nymphadora, what's happened? What's the matter?" he was getting more scared the longer she remained silent, this was so uncharacteristic. His thoughts strayed to her family and friends outside the Order...had someone been hurt or worse, killed? Had she herself been attacked?

She opened her mouth to talk but instead her eyes widened with an expression that Remus (somewhat baffled) could only describe as realisation.

"It's the full moon tonight," she said softly and unnecessarily. He just nodded. "Are you alright?"

"As well as I could be," he said bracingly, his thumb absently stroking her hand. "But what about you?"

"Oh....oooh," she muttered as if she had suddenly realised she was crammed into a corner of a room, buried in tissue. With that she scrunched up her face and attempted to morph away the tear stains, the blotches and the brown hair. Her hair went pale pink for a second but nothing else happened and her eyes shone with tears again, this time out of frustration.

"It doesn't matter," he whispered soothingly, "you don't need to change how you look, not for me. I'll listen no matter what," with this she gave a strangled wail which made Remus think he had said something wrong, but she dispelled all worry when she threw her arms around his already aching shoulders. They gave a moody throb as if telling him off for letting an emotional Metamorphmagus fling herself across them. He said nothing to Tonks...it wasn't her fault he was a werewolf and could even _hug_ like a normal person some days. He wound his arms round her in a strong comforting embrace and his heart did a jaunty two-step at such close physical contact with the woman he had been falling for all year. Even if this was her time of need and he was too old for her. Not to mention too poor and too dangerous.

"When you say such lovely stuff I just feel even more stupid. Here I am losing my head over what a couple of little _shites_ say about me and...and you've just spent all night well..."

"Sprouting hair and growing an extra two legs?" he prompted helpfully,

"And you can still hold it all together and muster some kind of internal strength to sit here with me, I shouldn't even waste your time," she tried to pull away but being a werewolf did award him some benefits – a crazy strength level was one of them, not that she was trying too hard.

"You're _not_ wasting my time Tonks. Who were these people and what did they do?"

"Oh it's so embarrassing now, it feels so insignificant. It's just there's only so many times you can hear the words _freak_ and _weirdo_ and so on, turn around wondering who the poor sap people are picking on is and then realise it's...it's," she began spluttering, "oh that it's _you_! I can't help that I'm a Metamorphmagus and that they're misunderstood and not trusted, I didn't _choose_ to be one, I used to think of it as a gift but now I _know_ I'm cursed. You see. Stupid huh? I'm sitting here in a right state just because someone I thought was a friend was muttering insults about me and you've just been through a transformation. You must think I'm _pathetic_," most of that was spoken in one breath but she spat the last word.

He just stared at her for a moment. Stared and absorbed all she had said, and the things she had conveyed without words. "Oh you see!" she cried again, "I knew you'd think me a complete loser for getting all in a state over this, it's why I never ever tell anyone when people hurt me,"

"I don't think you're a complete loser at all, quite the opposite," he said softly.

She obviously hadn't heard what he said because she began a trail of incoherent babbling about how she agreed that she needed to pull herself together;

"And what's more, I don't know why I just didn't -." She cut herself off, "hang on, what did you say?"

"I said 'I don't think you're a complete loser at all, quite the opposite,'" he repeated patiently,

"Really? You're not just saying that to be nice to me?"

"Absolutely not."

She pulled away from his hug a little and somewhat feebly wiped her eyes.

"Thanks," she muttered, "I just thought you might be a little angry that I was crying over that...you know...when you've just had to undergo one of your transformations."

"Nymphadora, do you really think I'd scorn you like that?" he asked softly but seriously,

"Well no, not in that way...I didn't mean..." she trailed off; obviously worried she'd caused him some kind of offence,

"And you really think I wouldn't understand?"

"What...?"

"Tonks, you're talking to a werewolf. I _know_. I know what it feels like to be stared at, pointed at, distrusted and misunderstood. I know what the prejudice feels like," she gaped at him for a second, obviously just realising that he really was the best person to have stumbled upon her, "don't ever think I wouldn't understand or I'd think you pathetic. People rarely understand that words thrown as casually as charms actually cut like knives; as if they were throwing daggers."

She closed her mouth the moment he stopped speaking and pulled back further, so she could survey his expression. It was unreadable.

"Thank-you," she whispered and leaned forward to brush a kiss on his cheek. It started of casually – the way friends should kiss. But then Remus, eyes closed, noticed that her still dry lips lingered on his skin longer than they should have. And they brushed more tenderly and lightly than was strictly necessary.

***

No longer tired, Remus did end up with a hot drink and chocolate after all. After the lingering kiss he had awkwardly cleared his throat and even more awkwardly risen to his feet. Although, if he had thought he had experienced problems, it was nothing compared to the precariousness with which Tonks got up. She wobbled violently and threatened to topple twice but had managed to stay upright. She had sat on the sofa while Remus insisted _he_ would be the one to make the tea and get the chocolate. Partly this offer was out of kindness to Tonks' low mood but another part of him was doing so out of respect to all the other inhabitants of Grimmauld Place, currently trying to sleep. Something told him if Tonks was lucky enough to make it to the kitchen without falling, she wouldn't get back with a laden tray.

After a battle of wills he had chosen the Muggle chocolate, thinking that Tonks would probably like it. He was proved right not ten minutes later when she bit into the food and had smiled, proclaiming it delicious. They sipped tea in silence for a while before Remus, feeling slightly awkward and desperate to distract himself from the feelings exploding in his brain, said,

"Before, when we were talking, you didn't stop me calling you Nymphadora – did you notice?" she paused for a moment, thinking,

"Yes, I did notice you using that monstrosity of a name," she said slowly. When Remus opened his mouth to argue she spoke more quickly, "no, it's not worth arguing it's the truth,"

"Then why didn't you tell me off like normal?"

"Because...I guess I don't mind it so much when you say it. You have a nice voice." There was silence for a minute before Tonks realised that she had actually said the last bit aloud, "I mean...I didn't mean it like _that_ I just mean that some people, well you know, they don't really have nice...voices," she trailed off quietly and Remus couldn't suppress his smile, he hated to admit it because he already felt like a silly teenager, but that was cute. It was times like this that his feelings for this woman stopped him feeling old and made him forget he didn't have two sickles to rub together. She made him forget he was a werewolf. He felt a surge of....bravery? Was that the right word? Either way he suddenly didn't feel rude or insensitive to ask the question he'd been pondering since the day he met Nymphadora Tonks.

"Nymphadora?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, but sure. Anything you want to ask, just fire away," she was definitely concentrating but she wasn't looking at him. Instead she was staring into the depths of the glowing embers in the fire and absently stroking the rim of her oversized mug.

"I don't want to sound rude or anything..."

"You couldn't sound rude. It's fine, it doesn't matter if it seems personal. You just had me fling my arms over you, wailing like a Banshee about being called 'weird'. It doesn't get more personal than that," she said pointedly, with a hint of embarrassment. He chuckled lightly, despite his worry that she still didn't meet his gaze.

"Is this what you look like? You know, when you don't morph?"

"You mean me 'au naturale'?"

"Yeah,"

"Kind of."

"Oh," he said, thinking she would leave it at that and he had crossed an unmarked line. An apology formed on his lips, "look..."

"My hair is a little lighter and longer. And it's curly. And my shape is different," she gestured awkwardly downwards, "why, did you want to see?"

"No!" he replied a little too quickly and she looked hurt. He mentally kicked himself. It was his turn to cringe and stutter, "no...oh Merlin, Tonks I really didn't mean that to sound like that! Seriously, I just thought I'd pushed the boundary by asking you what you looked like and I didn't want to make you feel awkward or hurt you more. Which I ended up doing really, so yeah...sorry," he blushed. Remus couldn't believe it; he had actually _blushed_. Her expression brightened a bit though and she screwed her face up. He watched as her hair grew to just past her shoulders, formed into pretty ringlets and changed colour to a light brown. Her features didn't change much but he noticed – and, much to his embarrassment, enjoyed noticing – that her hips grew wider, her waist slighter and her breasts swelled slightly. He had heard people refer to the shape as an hourglass although, predictably and perfectly to Remus, she slightly lacked the grace to be generically pretty...she was still beautiful to him though. Without a shadow of a doubt she was striking. Her eyes were a pale green and shone and twinkled brightly.

She felt her mouth stretch into a smile but on the inside she was feeling like a total wreck. She hadn't expected him to start telling her she was a stunner or something – no one had ever told her that. She'd convinced herself that no-one ever would. But she would have at least hoped he wouldn't have just stared in the way he did. She could safely say her experiment had failed she thought sadly. She had hoped that her bravery in revealing her real self would spark a similar courage in him. Maybe she had fallen so badly for him she'd fooled herself into believing he liked her too.

"I mean...I'm nothing special...the curls are okay I s'pose, I don't like the colour though and well, when I was at school boys always wanted slight little snippets of girls so...y'know," she looked angrily at her hips as if it were all their fault,

"Nothing special..." he whispered and Tonks couldn't tell if it was a question or if he was just agreeing in his gentle way. "Ton – Nymphadora...are you joking?" Apparently it had been a question.

"No," she said sadly, "whenever I've un-morphed, so to speak, in front of one of my boyfriends, they'd just stutter some lie that I was pretty or say 'you have nice eyes' so no, I'm not joking,"

"Well, I'm not one of your boyfriends, am I?" he said softly and somehow, the innocent sentence was laced with suggestion.

"No," she murmured, "you're not," she leant forward and brushed her lips against his. Very slowly his lips moulded to hers and the intense kiss they shared was soft and slow. Remus found himself thinking that he had always believed Tonks to possess some kind of grace and elegance and right there at that very moment, he had found it. He weaved his fingers through the soft ringlets of hair and broke away for a moment. He brushed his nose against hers and rested their foreheads together.

"Never believe what the idiots say Nymphadora. You're perfect."

"So are you."

His lips found hers again and Tonks realised that if she had ever been asked to predict how Remus Lupin kissed she would have said (or at least she had imagined) him to be gentle and mild, like his personality. She would have guessed that he would have held back a little, like he did in his day to day life – scared to offend or repulse. But she was wrong. She might have guessed he was a perfectionist, as with everything else and would have been correct there, but beyond that she almost had to suppress a gasp of shock. His lips were firm and insistent against her own, capturing her bottom lip and biting, ever so slightly. She shivered and smiled into the kiss. They both just realised that this might possibly be the best Christmas yet.

***

Lips slightly swollen and hair tousled they were tangled together on the lumpy sofa. She breathed in his soft, musky scent and he peppered light kisses along her jaw line.

"You're sure you don't care about the fact I'm a good decade older than you?"

"No." Her response was immediate and firm, but not rude.

"And I'm poor?"

"Money's not everything,"

"And I'm..."

"Give up Remus you're stuck with me,"

"Good."

There was at least five minutes of comfortable silence as Remus ran his hands through Tonks' hair, softly stroking the feathery tresses.

"But I'm a werewolf...an outcast...what about..."

"I'm an outcast too remember? I thought we were the same,"

"Oh yeah,"

"What, you forgot did you?" she looked mildly irked as she propped herself up to look into his eyes,

"Well I _was_ running round a forest a few hours ago; forgive a poor, weary old werewolf won't you?" his eyes glittered playfully,

"Seriously though, they can't hurt me now. The bigots. You understand what it's like, that's all that matters,"

"And you really thought I wouldn't understand?"

"Maybe...then again, maybe not," she teased, flicking a strand of hair from his golden eyes. He laughed throatily,

"Doesn't really matter now does it?"

"No?"

"Nah love, together we're stronger, that's all that matters now."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading this! This is my first my Harry Potter fanfic so I'd really appreciate all feedback in the form of comments so I can improve.


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